Flames of Desire (Romance on the Go)

by Angelina Rain

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 Angelina Rain

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-190-9

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Melissa Hosack

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my mom, for encouraging my obsession with books and the written word.

  To my online circle of authoresses who show me support when I go through my "I can't write" phase.

  FLAMES OF DESIRE

  Romance on the Go

  Angelina Rain

  Copyright © 2012

  Cold dripped past her fingertips and the water trickled down her skin, past her wrists and around her elbows.

  She splashed that water on her face, cooling her flushed skin and cleansing away the tears that had dried on her cheeks. Fresh tears almost sprung to her eyes, but she forced them away, splashed more water, and toweled herself dry.

  Ginelle Jinx looked at her reflection through the mirror. She almost didn't recognize herself. Her usually shiny blonde hair lacked its luster. The blue eyes that looked back at her were hollow and red-rimmed from crying.

  There had to be a way to punish the man who hurt her. There had to be something she could do. For a second, her gaze drifted to the cell phone that rested atop the closed toilet lid. How easy it would be to make the call. She had the phone number saved, stole it from his phone contacts list a few days after she learned of the lie. How great it would feel to hear his wife's voice on the other end and to tell her the truth. The sordid, shocking, kill your man while he sleeps truth.

  But she couldn't bring herself to do it. As much as she wanted to, as much as she thought about doing it, she couldn't bring herself to break the other woman’s heart. Sure, it was highly possible she knew her husband was a cheating scumbag, but what if she didn't know? What if all the nights he called to say he was working late, she fell for it?

  Ginelle shook her head and left the bathroom before temptation overtook her. It wasn't the other woman's fault. And as much as guilt crept through her heart, it wasn't her fault either. She had no idea he was married. Ginelle hadn't seen any tan lines around a ring finger. Sure, she had her suspicions as to why he was never able to hang out with her on Saturdays and Sundays, but that was explained by his having 'joint custody' of his kids on the weekends. Oh, how he ranted and raved about his horrible 'ex'-wife when there was nothing 'ex' about her.

  She's been sleeping with him for months. All those times of sneaking around work so none of the other employees would suspect she was sleeping with the boss, and in the end, the joke was on her. The truth didn't dawn on her until his wife showed up to surprise her husband at work. Ginelle has flushed with embarrassment and heartbreak when she paged Mr. Tyron and informed him he had a visitor. She had one small consolation prize when she watched Mrs. Tyron walk into his office. Through the open doorway, she noticed as a look of fear etched into his face, but he had quickly masked it away and closed the door.

  It took Ginelle all of five minutes to formulate her two weeks notice email and send it to him while his wife was still in his office. She didn't think he read that email instantly though, as sounds of fucking and grunting carried through the paper-thin walls.

  Now, a whole two weeks later, here she was; single, heartbroken, and unemployed.

  Her phone chimed and she rushed to answer, hopeful it was a text about some potential job. Her family had been very supportive by texting her every classified they came across. But as she lifted her phone and looked at the message, a pang of pain gripped her heart and wouldn't let go.

  'I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.'

  It was from him. Every single day, he made a point out of trying to contact her with his lies about how he’d leave his wife, eventually.

  She didn't want him to leave her. She didn't want to be the other woman, didn’t want to be with a two-timing jerk off.

  Ginelle ignored the text, as she always did. For a second, she wondered if his wife knew. Did she even suspect?

  As she walked into her personal library, her gaze fell across one of her favorite books.

  Of course! The idea came to her at lightning speed, and she almost rushed to the bookshelf and pulled the hardcover volume out from between the stack of books. Her heart beat wildly inside her chest as she smiled to herself.

  Maybe there was a thing she could do, something to hurt him for hurting her. She traced her fingered over the raised letters on the cover.

  The Modern Witch: A book of simple spells.

  The cover was black except for the candle burning on the bottom and the golden title. Ginelle had used the book several times for simple things like attracting luck, and fortune, and keeping bad karma at bay. Now, she sat on the old maroon loveseat and put her legs on the soft cushion. She draped a black throw blanket over her bare feet and cracked open the cover of the thick book. Scanning over the table of contents, she read the titles of various spells, hopeful that one of them would scream "Pick me!" at her.

  And it did. A smile crept onto her face.

  She turned to the indicated page, and read over the spell that would cause such delicious damage to the man who not only hurt her, but his wife as well.

  For a second, she stopped, considering if she should really proceed. She was crossing into the land of black magic. Surely there had to be consequences for what she was about to do.

  But it wasn't a completely selfish act. She wasn't just doing this for the reason that he hurt her. She was also doing it for his family. It wasn't healthy to his marriage that he had strayed, and she could only imagine how much his wife would suffer if she knew. And what about his kids? How selfish could a man be not to consider that a cheating parent also hurts the children? A family torn apart would mean the little ones would grow up with only seeing their daddy every other weekend.

  She had to do this spell. It was as though the goodwill of the world, or his family at least, depended on her decision. If she didn't do the spell, he would cheat again and again, until one day he tore his own family apart. But her spell would stop him in his tracks. How could he cheat when he couldn't even get hard? The impotency spell offered the perfect solution.

  Ginelle rose to her feet and rushed to the kitchen where she pulled out a cooking pot and set it on the stove. She read the spell book, adding the right amount of water that she brought to a boil. Now a pinch of salt and a dash of cinnamon. Let that simmer for a few minutes and add some chocolate shavings, drop in a few strawberries, and a few other various ingredients.

  The smell in her kitchen was intoxicating and she almost regretted that she will not be able to taste this mixture. But the next set of ingredients killed the edibility of the concoction. She pulled out glass containers of dried dead spiders and toad blood, adding both to the pot.

  The spell called for something of his.

  Shit! She had burned all his pictures and threw away all his gifts. Despair settled into her when a light bulb went on in her mind.

  Of course! How could she forget! Ginelle rushed upstairs to her bedroom and threw open her underwear drawer. He had forgotten his boxers one time while fornicating on her bedroom floor. She had washed them and stashed them in her drawer wit
h full intent to give them back, but she had never actually remembered to do so. Now it seemed like a thing of fate that she had his black silky boxers. Shuffling through the contents, she moved her thongs aside until her fingers gripped what she sought. She pulled them up and unfolded.

  Before her pot boiled over, she rushed to the kitchen, almost tripping over her own feet as she ran. Ginelle dropped the boxers into the boiling pot.

  Steam rose from the bubbling water and she swirled the boxers with a pair of tongs as her gaze shifted to the book beside the stove. She read the rest of the spell. It called for a splash of red wine and a warning was typed in red below.

  Stay away from the pot while pouring the wine.

  She crossed to the wine rack and pulled out an opened bottle of Pinot Noir. Opening it, she sniffed in the arousing scent of rich berries and alcohol. It was a shame she would have to waste a splash on a spell instead of her own mouth. Then again, there was nothing stating she couldn't drink and cast a spell. She took a sip straight from the bottle and swallowed the liquid. The taste lingered in her mouth, burning as it went down her throat, and she sighed as it hit the spot that made her feel good inside.

  Now it was show time! She extended her arm as far away from herself as possible and took careful steps until her hand hovered over the pot. Steam warmed her flesh, and her wrist and fingers turned red and puffy. Saying a silent plea for everything to work, she tipped the bottle until a splash of the rich red liquid hit the pot.

  Flames shot out from the soupy mix and she pulled her hand away quickly as pain ripped through her flesh. The bottle slipped past her fingertips and crashed onto the floor. Shards of glass mixed with splashes of deep red and she jumped back to avoid being cut by the flying debris.

  Ginelle didn't know which she regretted more — the wasted bottle of wine or the burned flesh of her hand. Or…

  Her gaze quickly traveled to the cooking spell. Orange and yellow flames danced outside of the pot. Her magical book was burning, along with the wall and the edges of the ceiling.

  The pain in her hand suddenly vanished. Cold sweat and fear seeped into her. Her jaw dropped open and for a moment she stood frozen in fear until something, like a magical force, propelled her to run. She jumped over the shards of glass and dashed out of the kitchen and into her home library where she grabbed her cell phone. It wasn't until she stood in her front yard that her fingers fumbled over the buttons as she pressed them. Nine. One. And one.

  "Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?" The female operator asked.

  "My…" Her throat had gone dry and suddenly her head was swimming. Her hand shook and the phone almost vibrated against her ear. Ginelle leaned against her car, which was parked by the curb, and took in a deep breath. She closed her eyes as tears seeped through them and when she finally spoke, her voice shook with emotion. "My house is on fire."

  "What is your address?"

  She rattled her address quickly and was surprised by the sound of sirens in the distance. Could the fire department be dispatched so quickly?

  "Fire and police are already on their way. One of your neighbors called them out a few minutes ago."

  She breathed a sigh of relief and opened her eyes again. For the first time since running outside, she surveyed her street. Neighbors stood out in their nightly robes and slippers, and there she was, in her short negligee, thong, and bare feet.

  "Would you like me to stay on the line with you while you wait?"

  The siren sound grew closer and a cold chill traveled through her body. She shivered. "I'll be okay. I think they're near, I could hear the sirens. But thank you."

  "Anytime," the lady said and for the first time in the whole conversation, her cold professional voice took on a softer personal note. But before Ginelle could say anything else, the phone clicked and the operator hung up.

  Her attention shifted to the fire truck, which turned into her street and came to stand by her house. Behind it came a squad car and a paramedic. They all stopped, as though in sync, and all doors opened as men and women rushed out. She watched as five firemen jumped out of the truck and grabbed their hoses. They rushed toward the house, running past her as though she didn't exist.

  A female paramedic ran to her along with a tall cop.

  "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" The paramedic asked.

  Ginelle closed her eyes and felt a headache brewing at her temples. "I'm fine."

  "We need to check you for smoke inhalation."

  She shook her head. "I ran out as soon as the fire started. I'm fine."

  "How did the fire start?" Now it was the officer who asked the question.

  "I was cooking. I must have fucked up the recipe because my pot just caught fire for no apparent reason."

  "Is it a grease fire?"

  She shook her head.

  The officer and paramedic asked a few more questions but she answered them mainly with nods and shakes, half ignoring what they had to say. She didn't look at them anymore. Her attention had drifted to her house, but even that she didn't see as thought occupied her mind.

  What would she do? Where would she go tonight? Where would she sleep?

  Without her even noticing, the paramedic and officer were gone and all she had as proof that they were there was a business card with the officer's information on it and bandages over her burned hand.

  As the firemen battled the blazes of her house, Ginelle closed her eyes, shutting out the emotions that swirled.

  "Are you okay?"

  She glanced in the direction of the voice. Noting her neighbor from two houses down, she smiled and put on a brave front. The old lady seemed to genuinely care, and it simply felt good to get some sympathy at that moment. Speaking to the neighbor took her mind off the fire for a few seconds, but eventually the lady had to return to her own home and Ginelle was all alone again.

  The house was now dark and shadows moved through it. The front door opened and the five firefighters walked out. They were covered in soot, and she smelled burned wood and ash even from the distance.

  They crossed to her, one by one taking off their masks.

  As she gazed at the first fireman, her heart almost stopped. Her jaw opened and phantom heat covered her body.

  "Hello, Ginelle. Long time no see."

  She didn't breathe, afraid that if she did, he would disappear. Seconds passed and she finally exhaled.

  "Seth?" It couldn't be. He couldn't be. They hadn't seen each other since that summer after high school when they’d kissed for hours in the airport as tears rolled down her cheeks and he walked away and out of her life forever, or at least forever until now.

  The memories of yesteryears crept through her, all those sweet kisses and promises, when everything seemed possible. Nostalgia swirled around her and she longed to turn back the clock, to run back into Seth Tompson's arms and wrap herself around him like she had done so many times before he left for college.

  The expression on his face suggested the same old memories had come back to him too, and he gave her a bittersweet smile.

  He had changed. Had aged. Then again, a whole ten years had passed since they last saw one another. He was no longer the eighteen-year-old boy, and she was no longer the seventeen-year-old girl still stuck in high school for one more year.

  Seth's hair was cut short in a sexy buzz cut, and soot covered his handsome face. Those chocolate bedroom eyes seemed to twinkle at her.

  He took a step closer and came to stand before her until he was so close she could reach out and touch him. She wanted, longed to touch him. Her fingertips tingled to feel his warm skin. But she stood frozen, refusing to act on the desire. Ten years had passed. What if he had someone in his life?

  For a second, lust twinkled in his gaze. "You are still as beautiful as you were the last time I saw you."

  Her heart beat wildly.

  His hand touched her bare arm in a caring gesture and the lust she had seen in his eyes was quickly replaced with concern. "Are you okay?"

>   She closed her eyes, willing the emotion out of her voice. "I don't know. How's my house?"

  "You'll need to remodel your entire kitchen but the rest of your house has been untouched by the fire." His hand left her skin, but she could still feel the touch, as though phantom aftershocks of his caress still lingered on her like a ghost.

  Ginelle breathed a sigh of relief. "So I can stay at my house tonight?"

  Seth shook his head. His gaze suddenly turned apologetic. "You need to air out the house. There is a lot of smoke. I would advise you go someplace."

  Where could she go? Well, she could actually go to a hotel but given that she just quit her job and hadn't found a new one yet, she didn't want to spend the money. She could open a homeowner’s claim and have her insurance pay for the hotel room, but that could wait until tomorrow. She didn't want to deal with the reality of what happened just yet. And there was always the option to sleep on a family member or friend's couch, but then she would have to talk about it and she really didn't want to relive the last hour or so of her night. "I have nowhere to go."

  Seth pulled her closer to himself and for the second time in the night, she noticed just how skimpy her outfit really was. As her breast rubbed against Seth's firemen's uniform, her nipples strained, wanting to be touched. She crossed her arms, hopeful that no one saw her reaction. But once she gazed into his eyes, Ginelle noticed the smirk on his face.

  "Are you cold?" His gaze was on her chest.

  Her body was on fire, being licked by the flames of desire, and it truly was the loveliest way to burn, but there was no way she'd say that to him now. "Yes, I'm a bit chilly."

  Seth turned to the other four firefighters.

  "I'll get a blanket out of the truck for her," one of them said and walked in the direction of where it was parked.

  "Thanks, Marco."